


Be at Peace

by triplebang



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Anal Sex, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dirty Talk, Drinking, M/M, Obsession, Party, References to Depression, Revenge, Sadism, Violent Thoughts, i guess?, just general creepiness, past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 07:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17402609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplebang/pseuds/triplebang
Summary: Chan doesn't remember the last time he's bothered going to a party, but his curiosity and thirst for revenge get the best of him when he learns that his high school bully will be attending this one.





	Be at Peace

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: This fic includes the use date rape drugs and non-consensual sex and all. Additionally, there are descriptions of (very) violent, gory and cruel acts in the dialogue, though none of it actually happens in the story. Please do not read if this material is triggering for you.
> 
> Disclaimer: I in no way think that anything depicted in my fics is acceptable in real life. I strongly believe that these kinds of things should remain within the confines of fiction, and I expect you to be able to make that distinction. Please do not believe that any of this content is normal or in any way. I do not intend to glorify any of this.
> 
> Once again, thank you [Hyunseph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyunseph/) for being my beta.

Chan isn’t a fan of parties, not at all. Though he might be the more outgoing and social type, there’s just something very unappealing about being surrounded by a bunch of drunk people and shitty music. So then, why is he here, at Jisung’s dumb house party?

Well, maybe Jisung had mentioned that a certain Lee Minho would be coming over. Lee Minho is Chan’s high school bully, to put it simply. Minho never shoved him into lockers or beat him up or anything, but he’d always make fun of Chan, insult him, spread rumors and lies about him, try to turn his friends against him and, to this day, Chan still doesn’t understand _why_. Minho didn’t act that way with anyone else; it just seemed like he had some sort of personal problem with Chan.

Minho would comment on his looks, say that he looked dirty, that he looked greasy. He’d make fun of the bags underneath Chan’s eyes, but those were only there because Chan has a hard time getting any proper sleep. Minho would lie to others and tell them that Chan probably gropes people, because he’s apparently _that_ desperate and nobody wants him.

One of the worst things that had ever happened to Chan was when Minho successfully spread the rumor that Chan raped his female lab partner, all because she was a little bit too friendly to him. Everybody had believed it, up until the girl herself had to clarify that it never happened. But, she stopped talking to Chan after that. A lot of people did. Even his friends had a hard time being seen with him for a while.

Minho also twisted Chan’s personality. Chan’s a bit odd and goofy, but he’s never been the creep that Minho made him out to be. So what if Chan sometimes acts a bit childish every now and then? So what if he sometimes gets touchy with his friends? It’s all platonic and friendly touching, anyway. So what if he sometimes zones off and blankly stares into space? So what if he likes those cool and dark aesthetic mood boards on Tumblr? Those things, amongst many others, aren’t inherently creepy, but Minho made them out to be.

He made him out to be some sort of freak who fantasizes about touching his friends, who fantasizes about hurting people, who doesn’t sleep at night because he’s too busy browsing the internet for all sorts of fucked up content. Nobody really believed it at first, but after the rumour about him spread, people were more wary. He couldn’t even hug his friends anymore without them being weird about it. Thankfully, they got over it eventually, though things never got back to how they were before. And, at the very least, they acknowledged that it was fucked up for Minho to spread that about him.

Yet, everybody he was close with still stayed friends with Minho. They simply didn’t see it as a big deal the way that Chan did. It’s as if all of the damage that Minho had done didn’t matter at all, just because it wasn’t physical. And it’s not like his friends didn’t care about Chan’s feelings, it’s simply that they cared about Minho too, and they weren’t going to pick sides. Deep inside, Chan thinks that maybe, somewhere along the line, they had started to believe what Minho said about him.

Honestly, Minho isn’t even a bad person with anyone else; he only is when it comes to Chan. But that just makes it so much more aggravating. Nobody cares about all of the torment that Minho put him through. Nobody cares about how much Chan’s mental health worsened because of him. Chan had started to believe all of those lies Minho made up about him, and maybe he still kind of believes them.

Like, yeah. He is kind of ugly, that’s true. And, yeah, he forgets to shower every now and then, either because he’s busy working on something or he just has no more energy. Also, maybe Chan does have creepy fantasies that he’d never share with anyone else. He couldn’t count the amount of times that he’s thought about doing horrible things to Minho. Horrible, horrible things.

The sad thing is, Minho is fucking _hot_. Chan would be a liar if he didn’t admit it. As much as he hated Minho, he couldn’t say anything when Jisung had a crush on him and would nonstop talk about how attractive he is. Minho has an amazing body, a pretty face, and a charming laugh. Really, who could resist him? Not even Chan could lie about how attractive the man is.

It’s been a while since he’s seen the other, maybe a bit over a year since their last encounter. Some masochistic part of him kind of wants to talk to the younger again, just to see if he might have anything to say, or if he might have changed. Probably not, but hey. Maybe, if Minho’s drunk enough, he’ll let Chan fuck him. That would be really satisfying. If not, then maybe Chan has a few Rohypnol tablets that he’s acquired from a questionable source. He’s never used them before, because he’s not that kind of guy. Chan’s not the kind of guy that Minho made him out to be, but… he still has them.

He’s crushed one of the tablets up and folded it into some paper, holding it and running his index finger against it in the pocket of his jacket. He doesn’t know if he’s really going to do this or not. Chan often has bad thoughts, but he generally never acts upon them. He always cowers out at the last moment, or he gets sense knocked into him and stops before he does anything stupid. Additionally, it would be awful if anyone found out about his thoughts and decided that Minho was right after all. So, even if he’s got this tablet in his pocket, it might not end up in anyone’s system tonight.

Why does he even want to roofie Minho anyway? A spiteful side of him wants Minho to suffer, wants to watch the man lose control and writhe. Another side of him just wants to touch him, to finally get his hands on that fucking perfect dancer’s body. Yet another side of him just wants to feel powerful, wants to feel that rush. Throughout high school he felt so helpless, while Minho seemed so in control.

Plus, all Chan has been doing lately during his break is being stuck in his room, working on beats that barely even sell. He’ll forget to eat, forget to shower. He’ll fall asleep at 5AM and wake up at 4PM, doesn’t go out much anymore and, basically, he’s a pitiful mess. He wants to fucking _feel_ something, and this could be it. Also, isn’t memory loss one of the effects of Rohypnol? Minho wouldn’t even remember anything, and Chan would have his way with him without getting into any trouble. So, what’s stopping him?

He stands around, idly chatting with his friends who all seem to be surprised at the fact that Chan even managed to crawl out of his room in the first place. “Wow, you even washed your hair,” comments Changbin, and Chan just rolls his eyes at him. But, there’s no sign of Minho anywhere. Maybe Jisung lied to him, though he doesn’t see why the younger would do that. Maybe Minho decided that he had better things to be doing, which would _suck_ because _why_ would Chan drag himself out here if not to at least be able to see the man?

It’s not until later in the night, when everyone is already drunk and only half mentally present, does Chan finally spot Minho. He doesn’t know when he got there, but it’s a good thing that Chan saw him now, otherwise he would have given in and gotten himself wasted. He’s only had a tiny bit to drink, just to loosen himself up. He’s not even nervous when he confidently walks up to Minho, who’s leaned against the wall, drink in hand, talking to some girl that Chan isn’t acquainted with.

It takes a second before Minho lazily turns his gaze over to Chan, and the corners of his mouth turn up slyly. “Well, well, well,” he draws out, and Chan can tell that he’s already had quite a bit to drink. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Channie.”

The girl that Minho was talking to looks between the two of them, then decides to leave. Great.

Chan grins back at him and says, “Sure has. Something like a year or so?”

Minho hums absent-mindedly, staring at his drink and stirring the liquid. “Something like that. What’s given you the urge to come and talk to me, hm?”

“What, I can’t come say hello to an old friend?” Chan asks, no warmth in his voice. He sees Minho laugh through his nose at that, because they both know that they aren’t friends. Minho knows that Chan is aware that Minho has a problem with him. All of their conversations always have the same air of fakeness to them. Chan wonders if he’ll ever find out what Minho’s problem with him is.

“It’s funny to me that you’d think I’d want to talk to your ugly, greasy face again,” says Minho casually, smile still plastered on his face.

Chan forces out an empty laugh and crosses his arms. He didn’t expect for the insults to start so quickly and, he won’t admit it, but it stings. He can’t wait to make Minho feel some pain, hopefully worse than the pain Chan feels from his words.

“Sorry,” the elder replies after processing the insult, “I’ve never been good at reading that fucked up mind of yours.” He laughs emptily again.

“ _My_ fucked up mind?” Minho scoffs. ”Whatever, don’t worry about it,” he reassures dryly, pushing himself off of the wall. “It’s not like I expect all that much from you either way.”

With that, he walks past Chan, not even sparing him a single glance. Chan turns around and watches him make his way to talk to someone else, probably Hyunjin or whatever. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he has to keep an eye on him, has to catch the perfect opportunity to slip the Rohypnol into Minho’s drink. Then, he’s also going to have to figure out how to get Minho away from the party without anyone seeing them. Maybe Chan should have planned this out beforehand. He’s suddenly not so sure about doing this anymore.

To his luck, he gets the perfect opportunity to slip the drug into Minho’s drink when the dancer leaves it on the kitchen counter, busy with stuffing chips into his mouth. His back is turned to the cup, and nobody pays Chan any mind when he passes by and slips it right in, then walks away. He eagerly watches Minho from a distance as the younger grabs his cup again, and finishes the rest of its contents. That was easier than he thought it would be.

Chan keeps his eyes on Minho, and he hopes that nobody notices the way he’s intently staring at the man. He’s probably safe, seeing how everyone is so lost within their own worlds, but he’s still a bit on edge. Chan eventually notices Minho’s composure worsen. Somebody makes a comment about how he should probably drink some water, but Minho doesn’t quite seem all there, not really listening.

Truthfully, Chan is content just watching him miserably stumble around, knowing that _he’s_ the one who caused this kind of trouble for Minho. So, it’s not that big of a deal if Chan doesn’t manage to figure out how to get the man all to himself.

Tonight is Chan’s lucky night, though. Minho tells Jisung that he feels sick, so Jisung tells him to just go up into one of the rooms upstairs and get some rest. That’s perfect, because all Chan will have to do is sneak up there a bit later and then he can have his way with Minho. He waits a while after the man had pathetically gotten himself up the stairs, without even having anyone try to help the poor guy. It’s kind of sad how not a single person even cared enough to help him up, but he guesses that they can’t be blamed with how inebriated they are. Nobody even glances in his direction when Chan heads upstairs.

He checks the rooms, trying to find the one Minho ended up going into, and on his third try he spots the man lying face up on the bed, arm thrown over his face. Chan quietly closes the door behind him, making sure to lock it, which is something that Minho should have done. Honestly, it’s his own fault if anything happens to him. The lights are turned off, but Chan turns on the lamp on the bedside table, which emits a soft, almost sickening, yellow light, and Minho immediately groans in response.

He moves his arm away and his eyelids open just a bit so that he’s squinting into space. Chan thinks he’s trying to look at him, but his eyes just won’t seem to focus. “Who’s there?” he slurs, and Chan is happy that he’s given the pleasure of hearing the younger’s voice without any malicious intent behind it. Minho’s just confused.

“It’s me,” answers Chan, approaching him and sitting down on the bed, running a hand though Minho’s hair. “It’s Channie.”

The dancer moans lowly and melts into Chan’s touch. It’s odd seeing him like this, so vulnerable, _especially_ in front of Chan. He keeps petting his head and observes the younger’s face. He looks lightly troubled, but overall calm. His stupid attractive nose pisses Chan off, and he gets the urge to break it.

He’d love to just beat him up, take out all of his frustrations on him. He wants to play out all of the violent fantasies that he’s had. Maybe, if Minho hadn’t been such an asshole to him, Chan would be doing better, wouldn’t be hating himself as much as he is now. Either way, there’s nothing he can do about the way he turned out.

What he _can_ do is start riding Minho’s shirt up, petting his abdomen, feeling the firmness of Minho’s muscles underneath his touch. The younger moves his hand sluggishly to weakly grab onto Chan’s wrist and slowly asks, “Chan? What the fuck? What are you doing?”

The elder doesn’t answer him. He stops stroking Minho’s hair so that he can use both of his hands to lift the shirt over the dancer’s head. The man underneath him seems too confused and sedated to be able to do anything, making everything a lot easier.

Once he discards Minho’s shirt to the side, Chan climbs on top of him and immediately plants his hands on Minho’s chest, caressing it gently, and then running his thumbs over the nipples. Minho whines and squirms underneath him, puts his hands on Chan’s forearms in an attempt to push him away. Of course, it doesn’t work. “Stop,” he mumbles, but Chan only rolls his eyes.

“What’s that? You want me to stop?” he asks, abandoning a nipple to grab onto the younger’s chin. “Why is that?” Minho doesn’t respond, too preoccupied with focusing his energy on trying to remove the hands. “Answer me,” Chan commands, twisting Minho’s nipple painfully.

Minho barely reacts to it, letting out a feeble squeak. It really doesn’t seem as though he’s able to process anything that’s being said to him, and Chan is kind of upset. Yeah, he wanted Minho to be completely defenseless, but he also wanted to at least get _some_ kind of reactions out of him. He can deal with this, though. If Minho isn’t really listening, and even falling asleep, from the looks of it, then Chan can do and say whatever horrible shit he wants to him. He hopes that Minho will still get some sort of trauma from this event, even if he doesn’t remember anything.

Minho’s eyes start closing, and his grip on Chan’s wrists weaken, so the elder sharply slaps him right across the face, hoping that it wakes him up a bit. The younger man’s eyes fly right open in shock, but his gaze is distant; he’s not looking at Chan, or at anything for that matter. Tears well up at the corners of his eyes, and this is the first time that Chan has ever seen anyone so… subtly horrified. It’s written all over Minho’s face that he’s finally realized something is wrong.

Chan uses both of his hands to gently cup the younger’s cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the cheekbones in hopes of getting his attention, but Minho’s still not really looking at him. Chan leans in slowly, wanting to get all up in his personal space, to get a good look at him, when Minho whispers, “I feel sick.” The elder briefly wonders if it’s because of Chan himself, or if it’s because of the drug. He thinks that it’s probably the latter, though it’s not as though Minho had never told Chan that he makes him feel sick.

Chan leans in further and presses his lips against Minho’s own. At the back of his mind, he’s a bit worried that Minho might end up throwing up in his mouth, but he ignores it and presses in further when Minho barely resist.

It feels like he’s merely kissing the back of his hand, truthfully. Minho’s lips don’t move against his; they just take whatever Chan imposes on them. The most movement he gets is from Minho feebly trying to turn his head away. The bright side about this is the fact that Minho’s lips are a lot plusher than his hand. The feeling of pushing against them, kneading them with his mouth is addicting. He can’t imagine how nice it would feel if Minho were to actually kiss him back, and he kind of wishes that he hadn’t drugged Minho. He wishes that these were normal circumstances, in a world where Minho was never cruel to him. Then, they could have really been something. It’s really such a shame that, in this world, Minho’s a bitch.

He pulls away, but not too far, just close enough to breathe down on his face. For the first time since he’s entered the room, it seems as though Minho is finally looking at him. He still appears distant, but there’s definitely a sliver of realization in his eyes. Chan can’t help but wildly grin when a faint look of anger flashes on Minho’s face, yet the man is entirely helpless. Chan could probably cum just from that.

“What’s wrong, Minho?” he teases, gently stroking his cheek. “Are you mad that I’m a good kisser?” Minho obviously doesn’t reply; he merely closes his eyes and sighs painfully, forehead wrinkling in pain. His head probably hurts. “No, right? Why would I be a good kisser, when nobody even wants to kiss me, yeah? How does it feel to be kissed by somebody so unwanted?”

Chan leans down again and starts licking his mouth, first trailing his tongue over the lips, then pushing it inside after forcing them open. It doesn’t taste particularly good, just alcohol, mainly, then something faintly salty, and then something undefined. The last thing must be the taste of Minho. It’s overall kind of disgusting, yet Chan can’t help but moan into him, enjoying the kiss more than he thought he would. He didn’t expect anything particularly amazing, especially with how all Minho does is recoil, or simply not move at all.

He can’t help himself when he starts moving his hips down, rubbing his growing erection against Minho’s crotch. He pulls away again and pants onto Minho’s cheek, forcing the other to turn away in disgust. “You know, I’ve always wanted to touch you like this,” Chan admits. “I’ve thought about it more times than I can count, just touching you, kissing you, making you squirm. Though, you were always a bit more responsive in my fantasies.” He laughs dryly, knowing that he’s only talking to himself. “I wonder what it would feel like to do this to you when you can fight back. I think I would have almost preferred a challenge. There’s no satisfaction in doing this to you while you’re basically asleep,” he sighs.

He grabs onto Minho’s chin, forcing him to turn back, then licks a large stripe right across his cheek. “You taste kind of gross, but I can’t get enough of it. Pretty much how I expected you to taste.” He kisses the cheek, then licks it some more. “You disgust me as a person, but why do I keep thinking of you? It’s unhealthy how often my mind wanders back to all of the torment you put me through. Why do I remember it so much? You’d think that I’d want to forget all of it, and yet…”

Chan lowers his head and pushes Minho’s chin up so that he has access to his neck. He bites down on it harshly, which causes Minho to gasp. “Fuck, you sound so pretty. You look so pretty. If only your looks reflected the way you are inside. I bet nobody would like you then. You’d be just as ugly and repulsive as I am,” he moans, then laps on the bite mark. “You’re lucky that you look so good. Or maybe not, because then I wouldn’t keep imagining myself fucking you.”

He trails kisses down Minho’s throat, reaching his collarbone and nibbling on it lightly. He’s really making sure to savor all of him, because Chan knows that he’s not going to get an opportunity like this again. “Do you wanna know how I want to fuck you?” he asks, fully aware that he’s not going to get a reply. After a second of silence, he continues, “I wanna fuck you as violently as possible. Want to make you scream and beg for me to stop. I want to hear and feel you cry, feel you clench around my cock as I make you cum. You’d feel so disgusted knowing that I made you feel good. How would you be able to live with yourself? I could take you from behind, from the side, from any angle, really. Want you to feel my dick in your ass in every way possible. I want my cock to be fucking imprinted into you.”

He lays the side of his head onto Minho’s chest, wanting to listen to his heartbeat. “You’d probably start crying really hard, eyeliner and snot running down your face when I fuck it, making you look like a cheap whore. I’d use all of your holes repeatedly, cum inside of you as many times as I can. Since I don’t fuck anybody, it’d all have been saved up for you. You’d leak from every single orifice you have. Hell, I’d cum in your fucking nose and ears, too. And, if you’d put up too much of a fight, then you’d also have it in your eyes. I’d fucking blind you.”

Chan pauses his monologue to run his mouth over Minho’s upper chest, eventually reaching a nipple and latching his mouth onto it, sucking roughly, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Minho moans weakly in response. The salty taste of his skin feels nice in Chan’s mouth, and he starts becoming intoxicated by the way it dances across his tongue. Not exceptionally pleasant, but very addictive.

“You know, while I’m on the topic, I’ve thought about fucking your eye sockets before. Just shoving my dick in there, making your eyeballs burst, even though I don’t know if that would fit or work at all. I just think it’d feel amazing to make you feel that kind of pain, don’t you think? Then, if I fucked both of your eyes, I could also knock all of your teeth out before I fuck your mouth, that way you wouldn’t be able to bite my dick. Plus, I’m sure it’d feel really good like that, all gummy and warm. Then, when I’m done cumming in all of your holes, I’d just cut your tongue and fingers off; you’d no longer be able to communicate with people. Nobody’s going to hear you spread lies about me ever again. The best part of it all is that it’s what you actually deserve.”

He pushes himself up slightly, just to look at Minho’s face. He was hoping to see some sort of reaction, but Minho seems to have fallen asleep. Chan sighs and says, “Except, I’d never actually do that. I’m not the actual freak that you’ve made me out to be.” As soon as that sentence leaves his mouth, though, Chan feels uneasy about it. He’s _not_ the creep that Minho made him out to be, but it feels like he’s lying when he says that.

He shakes it off and reaches into his pocket for the packet of lube he’d prepared, then slips himself out of his pants, pulling down Minho’s as well. He hastily takes off their underwear, finally just wanting to get to fuck the unconscious man. He’s half surprised to see that Minho is semi-erect, and it helps boost his ego a bit. “Wonder how you would have felt to know that I managed to turn you on,” he chuckles.

After ripping the packet open and pouring the lubricant onto his fingers, he positions himself between Minho’s spread legs and pushes a finger in. There isn’t much resistance as he fucks it in and out of him, watching the way his hole wraps around the digit. The sight arouses him, and he pushes in a second one. He’s using both of his fingers to stretch him open, trying to see inside, though it’s too dark. Chan briefly considers inserting a third finger, but decides against it. Maybe if it burns Minho more, he’ll wake up again and give him some reactions.

He uses the rest of the lube when he spreads it down his shaft, stroking himself lazily. He’s almost painfully erect, and he’s not even sure why. It was probably due to the fantasies he’s been describing, due to the way Minho smells and tastes, and just due to how hot Minho is in general. Either way, if he isn’t careful, he’ll end up cumming too soon and ruining everything.

He grabs onto one of Minho’s knees and uses his other hand to align himself with the man’s entrance, then he slowly pushes in. The tightness is overwhelming, and he thinks that maybe he should have used that third finger after all, but he eventually manages to push himself in more. Once he bottoms out, the heat around his length makes him moan, and he can’t help but pull out and thrust back in immediately.

His actions stir Minho awake, and the younger starts breathing heavily, brows furrowed. A whine slips past his lips and Chan sees him look up at him. He thrusts in and out again, fucking him rather gently, when Minho starts sluggishly shaking his head, rolling his eyes up and seeming very distraught. “Don’t do this,” he begs weakly, and Chan almost feels bad at how genuinely anxious he seems. However, it’s not enough to stop him.

He leans down and connects their lips, Minho turning away and whimpering. Chan uses a hand to keep his face in place as he presses in, running his tongue everywhere all over again. He picks up the pace of his fucking and, every time he thrusts in, Minho cries out a bit. It’s a noise that starts driving Chan crazy, sending waves of arousal though his body, driving him to fuck him harder, making the sound of their skin slapping resonate all that much louder throughout the room.

“Minho,” Chan moans, but there’s no response. “Minho, fuck.” Though he knows Minho is awake, he’s clearly not all there. “You feel so good, feel so nice. I think I’m going to cum soon, do you want to cum too?” he asks, but he doesn’t give Minho the option when he wraps his hand around his semi-hard length, pumping it in time with his thrusts.

Minho’s body seems to react more from then on, twisting and writhing, loosely fucking up into Chan’s hand. Chan thinks he can see the beginning of some tears forming at the bottom of his eyes, but he’s far too gone to think about any of that, solely focused on reaching his orgasm.

His pace starts faltering, thrusts turning uneven, and he looks down into Minho’s eyes. They’re all glossy and moist, wide and blank, and the man is staring right at him. A chill runs down Chan’s spine, filling him with a sudden dread that he can’t explain. It’s as if Minho is _really_ looking at him, as if he’s sober. The younger stares at him as Chan cums, releasing inside of him, choking on a broken and embarrassingly high-pitched moan. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Minho’s, weakly jacking the younger off. He wants Minho to cum, he _needs_ him to.

He opens his eyes again as he listens to Minho’s shaky and labored breathing, before he feels his body tense underneath him suddenly, releasing into Chan’s hand. His hole tightens incredibly around his cock, almost painfully so, and he watches Minho clench his teeth and roll his eyes back, before he relaxes back into the mattress.

Minho is no longer looking at him, only staring off into space again as Chan slowly pulls out. Of course, there was no way Minho would have become randomly sober. The fear in him subsides faintly. There’s an icky feeling sticking to him though, as if he definitely did something bad, something wrong. Well, in theory, he knows that he did. He knew all along what he was doing, but it hasn’t truly settled in until now. He finally understands why he felt weird about saying that he’s not the creep that Minho made him out to be; it’s because he _is_. He does have weird fucking fantasies, and he definitely is a rapist now. On top of it all, Chan knows, at the back of his mind, that he’s going to store this memory and jack off to it many times, which only makes him so much worse.

Something breaks within him. Despite everything that happened, despite how truly horrible and vile he is, Chan suddenly doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about anything. It’s all been said and done already. Maybe he always has been a creep, so what does it matter anymore? He’ll allow himself to do all of the creepy things that he wants to do.

He lies down against Minho, burying his nose into the man’s hair; Minho smells fucking amazing. Chan moans lowly as he trails his hands all over the younger’s body, wiping Minho’s own cum off on it. His cock faintly rubs against Minho’s thigh and, though it’s oversensitive, Chan wants to use it to rub across all of Minho’s body.

He kisses him again, and again, and again. He kisses his jaw and his throat and everywhere he can. He lifts Minho’s arm up and breathes in the smell of his armpit, nuzzling his nose against the hair there, pressing his mouth against it and then just licking it. The taste is almost appalling, but Chan does it again, and does the same thing to his other pit.

He scratches down Minho’s body, gathering dead skin cells underneath his nails. When he scratches down his back, Chan can feel some of his small pimples getting caught underneath them, and he rips some of them off in satisfaction. He brings his hands back up to tangle his fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging on the strands, removing any hair away from his face.

He stares at Minho’s face. It’s the face that haunts him, it’s the face that torments him. It’s the face that he wants to break, wants to beat to a pulp. It’s a face that he wants to fuck and a face that he wants to ride. It’s a face that looks so peaceful now that it’s asleep again, and Chan wishes that it were him in its place.

He wishes that he could just be at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please leave a kudos and/or comment, it's appreciated. 
> 
> If you need anything from me: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tripIebang/)


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